


Two Of Spades

by idlesuperstar



Series: The Life And Death Of Sugar Candy [1]
Category: Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (1943), Powell & Pressburger - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 01:39:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idlesuperstar/pseuds/idlesuperstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a hospital room on the outskirts of Berlin in 1902, Clive Candy thinks that it is going to be a fine day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Of Spades

**Author's Note:**

> A zillion thanks to both my partner-in-crime **jennytheshipper** for her beta work and to **tea-with-theo** for ensuring that Theo's German is not as laughable as Clive's (and mine). And for very helpful flailing encouragement. Any mistakes are definitely mine.
> 
> And of course, all the thanks in the world to Micky and Emeric (and Roger and Anton) for the gift of these two in the first place. 
> 
> Series notes [here](http://archiveofourown.org/series/36980)
> 
> A note on the German: most of what Theo says in German he manages to translate the gist of into English for Clive's benefit, bless him. But there are (some) footnote translations, if that floats your boat.

Clive wrinkled his nose as he studied himself in the mirror. Finally, the bandages had come off! He touched his scar, tentatively, aware that the nurses were prowling the corridors and that they had told him in no uncertain terms to leave it alone. They would still bandage it at night, and were insisting that he would need another week, more likely two before they would release him. He leaned closer to the mirror, gingerly running his tongue along his inner lip. The familiar feel of the stitches there, but how strange to see them on his face, uglier than the scar itself. But the scar _was_ striking, sore though it still was. Were he German, no doubt it would impress a fraülein or two. He smiled wryly at the thought. The sooner he could get on properly with the business of growing a moustache, the better. The straggly monstrosity on his lip was painful to look at.

A whistle from outside the window. Theo! It must be. Ever since Clive had told him about Jordaan Siding, Theo had taken to announcing his arrival with a burst of the _Titania_. Clive had discovered very early on - despite the language barrier - that Theo, for all his military smartness, had a sense of mischief. Truly they were as stuck here in the hospital as Clive had been with Hoppy for all those months. 

“Clive! Mein Freund. Heute ist der Tag? Yes. Today? Ach!” and he was striding across the room to observe Clive in the mirror. “Lassen - ” he paused. “Lassen - let me see.” he said, more quietly. 1

Clive found himself turned about face, and stood patiently; Theo’s hands firm on his arms, holding him still as he scrutinised the scar, his face serious. 

“Ah yes. Is good.” he murmured, finally. And then, stepping back and releasing Clive with a firm pat to each arm. “Beeindruckend! How you say, _impressive_. Now - moustache!” Theo beamed, jovial again. 

“Yes indeed, old thing.” He smiled at Theo’s good spirits. Surely Theo had not been concerned? No, more likely jealous! Scars were a matter of pride for a German duellist. Theo was checking that it was something to be proud of. 

“Not like yours, though, old man. Couldn’t quite pull that off!” He pantomimed to emphasise his point. Truth be told, Theo’s moustache was a little flamboyant, certainly for an English officer. It suited Theo, somehow, though. 

“Ha! You could not! A moustache like mine! Kommen! Es ist eine schöner Tag.2 Fine day. Kommen outside, yes?” And he was tugging at Clive’s sleeve, and Clive was halfway towards the window before he knew it; scrambling over the sill after Theo like a schoolboy. There was something delightfully naughty about sneaking out under the nurses’ noses like this. 

How quickly they had fallen into a routine! Now that the days were getting warmer they took any chance to escape outside. Truthfully, once they had been allowed out of bed Theo had been eager to go outside whatever the temperature. Clive supposed he was used to Prussian winters. Clive also suspected that Theo liked to show off his greatcoat. He certainly cut a fine figure in it. That fur collar! Clive was a little envious of that. 

Now, though, coats were almost not necessary. Clive had his overcoat nonetheless, as the nurses  - if they caught them - would chide endlessly. How soon winter had fallen away, here. Clive could barely remember the thick snow, the bitter cold of the gymnasium. Only a few weeks ago, and now here was the promise of spring. It was a beautifully crisp clear day, and he fell easily into step with Theo, the sun pleasantly warm on his face. Theo was busy with cigarettes; he had two between his lips and was lighting them both, before passing one to Clive. A little quirk of Theo’s which he only did with Clive. Well, it would hardly be the thing even with Frau Von Kalteneck, never mind Edith. But with Clive, well. That was different. 

“Now, mein Freund! Was machen - what will it be today?” Theo asked, smiling sidelong at Clive. 

“Oh, must we, old fellow? It’s rather wearing. I’ve just been through an ordeal!” Clive groused, smiling, gesturing to his lip. He was _not_ in the mood for German lessons today.

“Clive, Clive. How will you learn?”

“But we understand each other perfectly well, don’t we? Who else do I need to talk to?”

“Clive! Eines Tag, one day I will not be with you!”

“Well, I can’t imagine being in Germany and you not being around. Oh, let’s not fuss. Anyway, Edith can always translate for me!”

“So! Edith wird immer - be _with_ you, denken sie, you think?3  At your - call?”

“Oh! You’re twisting my words old man. I didn’t mean that. Not exactly - ” Clive broke off, marshalling his thoughts. “I meant that of course while I am here she is here too. I didn’t mean - ”

“Nur - so! You not need her  - sobald sie die - once you go.” 

“Theo!” this was becoming rather ungentlemanly. “You make me sound a cad! As if I would - _discard_ her! I only meant that Edith is her own _Fraulein_. Yes? She does as she pleases. Sie _will_. May we leave her be now?” he grumbled, annoyed rather that the afternoon was becoming less pleasant. 

“Certainly, Clive.” Theo patted his arm. Clive glanced at him and Theo was grinning. 

“Oh, you - !” and he shook Theo’s hand off, half vexed and half pleased by the teasing. He shoved Theo gently, and Theo laughed happily.

“Ach, Clive, mein Freund!” and Theo’s arm was suddenly warm around his shoulders, and this easy familiarity was something new and quite lovely. True, even as early as that first evening playing cards they had got on splendidly. And they had fallen quickly into a daily routine, with and without the ladies. But up until now Theo had retained some of his - well, properness, Clive thought. Clive grinned back at Theo, his annoyance gone, and they continued their stroll in a new, closer harmony. 

 * * * * * * *

The air was fresh and clean here, quite different (Clive thought treasonously) to smoky London. And the promise of spring in the air was delightful. Another two weeks of this - well. Had anyone told him back in London that he’d be happy to stay in hospital for six weeks he’d have laughed in their face. And yet, here he was, content. There was something to be said for recuperation in such pleasant surroundings. He was - after all - supposed to be recuperating from his shoulder injury. He laughed aloud at that. 

“Was ist - so funny, my friend?” Theo asked.

“Nothing important. Only -” Clive glanced at Theo, judging whether to tell him. Theo would understand, after all. 

“Yes?” Theo was looking at him in curiosity now, no doubt thinking that Clive was once again being bafflingly English. 

“Only - I’m on leave, you know. Or at least, I was.” Theo did know, because they had covered this ground before.

“Ja. You said. So?”

“Well, I didn’t tell you it was medical leave. Of a sort. My shoulder, you know.” He gestured offhandedly.

“Dass ist so?” Theo looked thoughtful. Of course he had not seen action quite as Clive had. Perhaps he thought - like the duelling scars - that it was rather impressive. People - ordinary people, not soldiers - often did. Surely Theo was not like that?

“Yes. Caught it from one of the Boers.”

“Caught it? Was meinst you?”

Oh dear. Would he have to go into detail? He didn’t have the German for that! What to say?

“Yes. Oh. You know. Bullet.” 

“Oh! Oh.” Theo lapsed into thoughtful silence as they continued their stroll, heading towards the canal. And then Theo was lighting another two cigarettes for them. Good that he was not going to make a fuss. Clive had thought he would be good about it, but you never knew. Clive was lost in thought for a moment, enjoying the air, and then Theo was passing him a cigarette. Clive took it gratefully. It was slightly damp from Theo’s mouth but he’d shared fags with fellows before now. It was only like sharing a bottle. 

“Wollen sie nicht4 \- not want to talk of it.” Theo said, exhaling smoke. “So. I understand.” 

“Nothing to say, old man. Bullet caught me. They patched me up. All well.”

“Es tut nicht weh?5 Not - hurt?”

Clive couldn’t have borne the nurses making a fuss about it, and so had managed to avoid them finding out. But Theo asking was different. One soldier to another. 

“No. Bit stiff in the cold.”

“Hatten Sie Glück - lucky. That it - not - der rechte.”6

 Theo gestured his meaning to Clive. Ah yes. He had been, he supposed. An injured right shoulder would have been more of a trial. That would have made the duel tricky, if nothing else!

“Would still have matched you, old man!” 

Theo looked puzzled at this. Clive wished briefly for Edith to be there to translate, but that would mean a different kind of afternoon. Not like this easy camaraderie. Besides, he would not talk of such things were Edith here. Or Frau Von Kalteneck. Theo was still looking uncertain. 

“Duel! It would not have mattered. In the duel!” Clive sprang back and took up an _en garde_ position.

“Duell? Jetzt?”7 Theo looked taken aback. But not - Clive was interested to see - not unwilling. Clive reached up to one of the trees overhead and snapped a slim branch from it, springy with new sap.

“No! I mean, I would still have given you a run for your money, even if it were my right shoulder!”  and he gestured with the switch, as if to demonstrate. Then he tossed it into his left hand and took up the _en garde_ position again. Theo was laughing at him freely now, bending a branch down to find his own. 

“ Linkshänder, Ja? The left? I beat you! Hir Deutschen - we Germans -  mit beiden Händen üben! Do both!”8 and he took up the position perfectly, straight backed and proud, chin tilted in challenge, and there they were; two grown men, bareheaded by a canal in March, facing each other with sticks for sabres. Clive grinned at Theo, at the joy and absurdity of it, of playing like boys with wooden swords. Lucky that they were out of the reach of the nurses down here. 

“Hey!” and that was for Theo springing forward before Clive was ready. So much for the rules! “I wasn’t ready!”

“Clive! Das is nicht Kreig! Not war! No Warnung!”9 Theo was teasing, now, in mock-outrage. “ _En garde!_ ” and he attacked again. So be it! thought Clive, parrying and then feinting left before thrusting. Theo parried well before dodging out of the way. They continued, laughing in the crisp air, the only sound that of the thwack of wood against wood. Clive was winning, he was sure, though Theo had not underplayed his skill. Left handed was damn tricky, especially - oh! - 

“A hit! A palpable hit!” he cried, as his branch glanced off one of Theo’s shiny buttons. Hurrah!

“Ach!” Theo grunted, looking put out. “Glückstreffer. Lucky.”

“Best of three, old man? Yes? Drei?”

“Ja. _En garde_!” and Clive was barely ready this time, as Theo left the trappings of friendship behind and lunged fiercely at him. 

“Ein Hit!” Theo was triumphant as his sabre struck home, somewhat painfully in Clive’s belly. 

“All right, old horse! Steady!”

“One für mich. Und sie.”

“Okay, one-all. _En garde_!” and they were both ready this time, evenly matched. And serious! Serious as only boys play-acting could be. Clive was certain that he could take Theo, yes there he was leaving his right side unguarded, used as he was to fencing with that hand and hampered a little by the weight of his greatcoat. Clive dodged, danced to the side and lunged and - oh! a sudden sharp sickening pain down his arm, as if someone were twisting a hot knife in his shoulder and pulling all his tendons tight. The branch fell from his feeble grip and he bent over, hand at his shoulder, trying to breathe clearly through the nausea. 

“Clive!” and Theo was there by him, a hand firm on his heaving back, concern evident in his voice. Clive straightened gingerly as the pain receded a little. 

“Just - ” he panted “ - just - I’m alright. I’ll be alright.” The sickness was ebbing a little along with the sharpness of the pain and he began to feel more himself again. Theo guided him over to one of the benches along the canal path, hands gentle on his back and arm. They settled, Clive thankful for the seat, and also terribly glad at the steadiness of Theo beside him and the lack of fuss. 

“Ich denke - ” Theo paused, plainly searching for the correct expression. “You must - arbeiten deinen Arm. Work it. Yes? Have you not?”10

“No. I mean yes. I mean - well it was alright. A good turkish bath was just the thing.”

“Tch. Sie Englisch. Fight as soldiers. Think as Kinder. Child. Der Körper. Body. You must work it. Wir Deustchen wissen das. We know this. Was haben die Schwestern - nurses - say?”11

“They don’t know.” Clive admitted sheepishly. “I don’t want a fuss.”

“Ach Clive! What will I do with you?” Theo was smiling fondly at him now.

“You needn’t do anything, Theo. Nicht.”

“Ich muss!  If you will not! Dann muss ich.”

 And - well. Clive could hardly refuse Theo in this mood. It was rather nice that he was so concerned. Though Clive hoped it would be nothing too strenuous. 

“Alright. Yes. If you insist.” Clive agreed, easy now that the pain had lessened. Theo beamed at him and clapped him heartily on - thankfully - his good arm.

“You see! Sie werden mir danken. Thank me! It is only - _Übung?”_ Theo flexed his own arm, oh - exercise? “und ein wenig Arbeit - a little work.”

“Hmm.” Clive was dubious about  Theo’s idea of ‘a little work’. But he would see. He leaned back on the bench, relaxing in the sun. Theo looked at him expectantly. 

“What?” Clive said. 

“Wir starten? Start now, ja?”

“Now?” Clive sputtered. “Give me five minutes at least. Funf minute?”

“Funf minuten. As you say. Then - work.”

“Alright. Relax? And give me a cigarette, old thing.” Clive closed his eyes and tilted his head back, aware of the pull in his shoulder, but also of the sun warm on his face, Theo’s steady presence beside him. It was some moments before he heard the match strike and smelt the familiar aroma of Theo’s cigarettes. And then the soft brush of Theo’s fingers against his lips, careful of his scar, and a cigarette there. He inhaled gratefully, and tilted his head, cracking an eye open to look at Theo. Theo was turned towards him, elbow on the seat back, head propped on his hand, smoking in silence, watching Clive through the smoke. 

“What is it?” asked Clive.

“Nichts. Nothing. You - ” Theo gestured gracefully with his cigarette at Clive, as if that were an answer. Clive was none the wiser, but what did it matter? It was just Theo being Theo. Clive smiled and closed his eyes again, enjoying the peace as they smoked in easy silence. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

“So!” 

They were back in Clive’s room, as Theo had insisted that it was better to be warm. He had also insisted on taking a proper look at Clive’s shoulder, which Clive had argued at first, until Theo managed to convey how childish Clive was being. So here Clive was, sitting on his bed in just his trousers, his shirt discarded, as Theo stood in front of him looking serious and oddly professional. 

“Clive. Das kann weh tun. 12 May - hurt.”

Clive was not an idiot. Still, Theo was just being conscientious.

“I know. It’s alright if I know it’s coming. Do your worst.” He gestured for Theo to begin. 

“So.”

Theo stood for a few moments, studying Clive’s shoulder impassively. Then he placed his left hand on the shoulder, and his right on Clive’s bicep, and began. Clive concentrated very firmly on not making a sound. Theo was standing close by him, the wool of his uniform trousers brushing close to Clive’s knees. He had divested himself of his greatcoat but kept his tunic on, and Clive focused all his attention on the third shining button down, which was at his eye level. 

This was not so bad. Theo’s hands were warm and sure on him. He had obviously done this before. Clive found that he had relaxed; that he trusted Theo to do this. Theo was murmuring to himself in German as he worked; an oddly soothing sound. He drew Clive’s arm up and worked steadily down it, his hands firm and capable. And oh! There! That was painful, and Clive failed to hold in a gasp. He blushed in shame. 

“Clive!” and Theo was bending down to meet his eye. “You must not - tapfer sien - be big man - hier - with me.” he chided. “We find den Schmerz. Pain. We work. Erhalten sie bessere. You better. Leicht!”13 and he smiled reassuringly. 

“I know.” Clive was embarrassed, still. He was not used to this. “It’s tricky, though.”

Theo patted him gently on his good shoulder. 

“Nearly done. Ich fortsetzen? I go on?” 

“Yes. Go on. The worst is over. I hope.” Clive found himself unwilling to let Theo down. What a trick! The nurses could learn from him. Theo’s hands were back on his arm now, and smoothing up to his shoulder; Theo was moving round, clambering onto the bed to kneel behind him, massaging the muscles in his shoulder and neck. His touch was quick, sure, but not like that of the nurses. To them, here and in South Africa, Clive was an injury to patch up and ship out. This was - well, Theo did not _have_ to do this. This was a kind of gift. Clive blushed again to think that, but Theo was a solid presence behind him, and thankfully could not see. He was murmuring in German again, pressing harder now, his thumbs firm and strong, and there - yes, god - there was pain there, but it was the good ache of hard worked muscles after a game of rugby, or a decent ride or - and Clive flushed even more as he caught his train of thought - after lovemaking. Lucky that Theo could not see his face! Oh, but his hands were doing their job, and he’d done something, because the pain - well, it was still there, but lesser, lesser definitely. 

“That - ” Clive faltered, somewhat hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again, self-conscious. “That’s better, Theo.” 

At that, Theo leant over his shoulder, head next to his, the familiar scent of his pomade and cigarettes sharp in Clive’s nose.

“Bist sie sicher? You - certain?” he said, breath close at Clive’s ear. “You are saying - die Wahrheit? Truth?” and oh! - Clive was lightheaded for a minute, with Theo’s hands warm on his shoulders, and the sense of him steady at his back. The pain going, that must be it. The relief of it had made him a little dizzy. Nothing more.  But what? The truth about what? Oh! Clive collected himself. His shoulder!

“Yes. That last part. That eased something.” he nodded, and reached up to point out the spot. His hand caught Theo’s hand, still firm on his shoulder. 

“This?” asked Theo, smoothing his palm down to the shoulder joint “dies hier?” and he pressed into it again.

“Yes - yes, that” said Clive, breathless.

“Es is nicht so schlimm - not bad.” said Theo, still working into it gently “Es braucht - exercise, ja? Täglich. Every day? A little work. Ich werde dir helfen. I help.” Theo was so matter of fact about it. Clive was once more grateful for the lack of fuss. He dropped his head, and let his hand fall to his lap. Just so. It was the pain, and then its absence, and tired muscles. That was all. He must not think anything else. 

“You are tired, mein Freund.” said Theo, patting his arm. “It is so. With such things.” He rested his hands lightly for a moment longer on Clive’s shoulders, and then his touch was gone, as he climbed off the bed and stood, straightening his tunic. 

“Thanks, old man.” said Clive, thankfully recovered from his blushing fit. He took up his shirt and shrugged his arms into it, already feeling an ease in his shoulder that he hadn’t admitted was absent before. Theo looked oddly - bashful? turning quickly away, reaching to the bedside table for Clive’s cigarettes. 

“Do not thank me, Clive. Es ist nichts. Nothing.” And he busied himself with lighting cigarettes while Clive tidied himself up. Theo handed him a lit cigarette and he took it with pleasure. 

“Ich sollte gehen.14 I go, Clive. You rest.”

“No, don’t go! I’m alright. Stay. We can have a game of cards. I don’t need much energy for that!”

“Sind sie sicher. Sure?”

“Of course I’m sure! Plenty of time before dinner. Tell you what, if you win, you teach me more German. And if I win, I teach you more English. Deal?”

“Ja. Deal.”

Clive was pleased with Theo’s ready acceptance. Though he felt Theo was humouring him a little. Theo was not so handy with cards as he was with a sabre! 

“You’ll be fluent before the week is out!” Clive laughed, sitting down at the table and shuffling the cards. Theo snorted somewhat ungraciously and busied himself with pouring their drinks. 

“Ich lasse dich gewinnen, um sich besser zu fühlen.”15 he said, not bothering to translate for Clive’s benefit. 

“What’s that? You must win more often if I’ve ever a chance of understanding that!” Clive smiled. Oh, he was feeling much better now. The tiredness had lifted, his arm was easier than it had been for weeks, Theo was sitting with him, smiling, easy. It was still a lovely afternoon. 

“Cut!” he said, offering the pack to Theo.

“Zwei. Two.” Theo muttered, showing the two of spades.

“Seven!” Clive crowed. Theo glared at him. “Oh, yes, alright. _Sieben_? Happy now?” he added, dealing swiftly.

“Happy? My dear Clive - ” Theo smiled fondly, “With you? Immer.”16

“Immer?” frowned Clive. 

“I teach you if you lose. Now, spielen! Play!”

Clive looked at his cards. A decent hand. Alright, they would play. And whoever won, they would continue their haphazard education, and what did it matter if he remembered his German? Here they were, he and Theo. They understood each other. They needed no-one else. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

 

Footnotes: 

1 Today is the day? Let -

2 Come! It is a nice day.

3  Edith will always be with you, you think?

4  You do not want - 

5 It is not painful?

6 You were lucky - that it was not the right.

7 Duel? Now?

8 Lefthanded? Yes? We Germans use both hands!

9 Clive! This is not war! No warning.

10 I think - you must work your arm.

11 You English. The body. We Germans know this. What have the nurses said?

12 This might be painful.

13 You must not be brave - be big man here with me. We find the pain. Make you better. Easy!

14 I should go.

15 .I let you win to make you feel better

16 Always.

**Author's Note:**

> Clive's shoulder: in the original script, Clive does indeed have a shoulder injury. He discusses it in the scene at the baths where Hoppy thinks he's lost a leg. I like to think that this is one of Emeric's many homages to Conan Doyle, a sneaky reference to Watson's travelling wound. It didn't make it into the film, as extensive study of half-naked Roger in a towel shows. (Research, I tell you.) I would also like to thank the _Sherlock_ fandom for encouraging me to have a thing about soldiers with shoulder scars. 
> 
> The title is an oblique reference to lots of things but mainly my embarrassing teenage obsession with the tarot (two of spades = two of swords, if you want to look it up - and there are two swords in the story, wow), as well as the boys playing cards, and _Queen Of Spades_ , and the fact that I can never think of decent titles.
> 
> I'd like to thank E.M. Forster, for being my favourite writer, and for _Maurice_ , which is rather a touchstone for this series for me, for many reasons. And apologise to him, because I fear I may have nicked bits accidentally, and made them much more rubbish.
> 
> Finally, among the myriad things I learnt writing this, the most brilliant was that the German for 'moustache' is 'Schnurrbart'. I fear I could not bring myself to have Theo say that. Clive would have laughed too much, and burst his stitches.


End file.
